The Wrath of Mandalore
by CrazyLogic
Summary: It's an ideal, something Fable hopes to be. But she's just starting out as a smalltime bounty hunter in a small guild. Building a notable reputation in an unforgiving profession isn't easy, but she's willing to work her hardest to show what she's made of.
1. Boardgames and Backwater Planets

**Just fair warning, this story is heavily OC centered, with cannon characters plying small roles at most. This story also ignores a large amount of the EU, mainly because I don't know much about it and I know I'll piss someone off if I don't make it some form of AU. Anything not covered in the Movies or The Clone Wars series is subject to being changed or disregarded completely depending on how familiar I am with them.**

_**I do not own nor did I create anything within the Star Wars universe, and I make no money from this whatsoever. This is simply am attempt at practicing my writing skills that I have chosen to share with others. I did, however, create Fable Ramsair, The Mandalorian Clan Ramsair , Krin Ringhopper, Isshwarr, and the mentioned Bounty Hunter's Order, any similarities are purely coincidental, and I will not allow any use of them without my permission.**_

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* * *

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Nothing compared to the thrill of conflict. Fistfights, dejarik, sabaac, anything really. Since she was three, she had been told that conflict was instrumental for growth. To her, a competition not only lent to her growth, but her opponent's as well. That's why Fable Ramsair liked to compete against the same people over and over again. So whenever she ran into Isshwarr, a game of dejarik or chess was on, today it was dejarik.

Isshwarr, a black Wookiee just out of adolescence by his species' standard, stared hard at the board. Had he been standing, he would be seven feet tall. As intimidating as the Wookie race was, he gave off a kind disposition, hiding what he was truly capable of. Strapped to his back by a braided leather bandoleer was a bowcaster, Fable noticed that it was new.

Isshwarr gave a displeased grunt, _"Are you even paying attention to the board? You're barely trying as is."_

Fable gave an apologetic shrug. "A mark is said to come to this cantina whenever he's in the area, I have reason to believe he'll be in the area." She didn't bother lowering her voice. With the volume the music was playing at, normal tones might as well have been whispers. Also, no one seemed to find a Mandalorian female and a Wookiee playing dejarik in the middle of a cantina all that interesting, surprisingly enough.

It made her wonder how much crazy stuff happened here to make _this_ sight uninteresting. Even people highly intimidated by Isshwarr's race and her culture tended to at least raise an eyebrow.

* * *

Isshwarr cocked his head at Ramsair, what she said _would_ explain the regular glances at the door, noticeable by the occasional cock of her head in its direction. It was also a good reason why she was on this backwater planet. _"One notable town on this planet, with only one cantina. Them stopping by here is a given."_

Ramsair glanced at the door again while she snorted. "No kidding. And people call Tatooine a frontier planet. This place doesn't even have a name, just a chart number!" She paused for a moment, seeming to think as she glanced at the doors again. "It's not a bad place though. The forests and the weather remind me of Dxun."

Isshwarr chuckled at that. Ramsair often honored him with facts about herself, such as her having spent several years of her childhood training on the former Mandalorian moon-world of Dxun, and that she was somewhat of a linguist, knowing half-a-dozen languages besides Basic and Mandalorian, including his own tongue. He also knew that her Mandalorian shocktrooper style armor had been initially designed by her father to show others her personality. The black under suit said she had a strong sense of justice and the blue coloration of the metal plates told other Mandalorians that she was reliable. She had later changed the color of her knee and shoulder pads, as well as the coloration around her visor, to red. Ask anyone who knew even a little bit of her culture, and they would say that red announced one phrase when incorporated into armor, "I will honor my father."

Isshwarr was no fool; he knew that a Mandalorian of her clan would only give such a detailed explanation to an outsider when they earned the individuals greatest respect. Not long after, she had started to openly refer to the explorer as her friend. Although, she was still somewhat secretive about some things, such as where she learned her unique hand-to-hand combat style, or how she was able to learn so many languages at such a young age, which was twenty-one at most, seventeen at least. He would not push her for answers to his questions though; she would tell him when she would tell him.

"Now that you know why I'm here, what about you Isshi? Are you after anything particular or just general exploring?"

Wordlessly, Isshwarr handed her a datapad. A quick scan would reveal newly-made maps, a list of natural resources and their locations, and even some drawings and explanations of the local plant and wildlife._"I was hired to help an expedition. A scientist I've worked with in the past was in charge. It was the most active job I've had in years."_

Ramsair laughed as she handed the 'pad back. "I bet the others were surprised you were there to be more that the big guy that scared away and possible dangerous wildlife."

The mix of bark and howl that was Isshwarr's laugh startled several other patrons **and** the bartender. He quickly calmed himself down to a hoot-like chuckle.

Ramsair's shoulders seemed to slacken, and Isshwarr imagined her face did the same. Her voice confirmed the deadpan. "I have no idea do I?"

The Wookiee grinned and shook his head. No, no she didn't.

In an instant, Ramsair stiffened. Crisp professionalism had replaced friendly relaxation. Visor trained on the door, she unconsciously readied her GLX Firelance as she prepared to rise.

The mark had just arrived.

"How about you message me from your next base so we can have a proper game later, alright Isshi?"

Isshwarr nodded in agreement. _"Good luck in your hunt"_

"I'd rather make my own, but thanks."

Ramsair stood, the man who had just entered paled, back up several steps, and bolted out the door. Ramsair was hot on his trail.

* * *

Krin Ringhopper openly sulked in his holding cell in one of the cargo holds of the small freighter, which he had noticed belonged to a bounty hunter guild known as The Order of Bounty Hunters. The Mandalorian female was nowhere to be seen, and the room was maddenly silent. But, he was still alive; something most bounty hunters don't normally let 'runners' stay. Now he had to nurse the wound in his pride for being caught by some no-name who had to barrow a Guild ship, and in one Sithdamed stun shot too.

At least the cell had a bed. Sure it was one of those foldable net-cot-things, but it was better than the floor. She was also kind enough to provide a thin (and what looked to be a very itchy) blanket and a (might as well not have one at all) pillow.

Such comforts were probably there in the first place to quell complaining. Most bounty hunters just threw people in a cage. It was pretty smart actually. Krin would feel really stupid complaining how much the blanket itched when he was lucky to have one in the first place. She would probably feed him real food for the same reason, even if it was military rations, as opposed to some tasteless grey goop that other hunter's were said to feed their prisoners.

His musings were interrupted by the sound of the door hissing open. He looked up in time to see the armored figure enter the room, a food tray in hand.

Fable paused a moment too look at the acquisition, information automatically running through her brain as-well-as her HUD. Krin Ringhopper was a smalltime smuggler; age twenty-eight, five-ten, with dark blonde hair and eyes that were such a deep brown that they could be confused for black. Wanted by Nikro the Hutt for smuggling goods that had been stolen from him, all he probably knew was that someone had placed a bounty on his head.

His clothing was thick, with a white vest over his dark colored tunic. He had probably been planning to hide in the jungle lowlands, where it was much cooler than the humid plateau the settlement had been on.

"A stupid plan," Fable decided.

Ringhopper's eyes widened before his rough and roguish face turned into a scowl. "What the hell do you mean by that?"

Fable made her way over to the cell. "You're clothed for cooler weather. That means you were going to hide in the lowlands, right?"

Ringhopper's frown deepened, "You were able to figure that out from the way I was dressed? How the Hell did you know the weather was different there."

Fable shook her head as she crouched to slide the food tray through the slot on the floor. "How I figure things out is a trade secret and beside the point. The point is that you were going out into the wilderness miles away from civilization, which is meager at best because you were on a planet that has only been settled for ten years and is barely explored. You don't see anything wrong with that plan?"

Ringhopper stood than crouched to pick up the tray. "Enlighten me."

Fable stood and crossed her arms. "Only some of the native plants and animals have been recorded, so you have no idea what's dangerous and what's not. And even if the planet was well mapped and the native wildlife fully recorded, going off alone in the wilderness when you have no idea what you're doing is just stupid."

Ringhopper sat back down on the cot, placing the tray on his lap. "Sounds like you know what you're talking about. Any particular reason?"

Under her visor, Fable rolled her eyes. "Other than the common sense aspect, none of your business."

Ringhopper shrugged in a manner that told her he was expecting that kind of answer, but tried for the sake of conversation. "What about the bounty on me, is the reason behind it my business?"

Fable remembered her instructions, it was his business. She moved over to the workbench and placed her Firelance on it. "Three standard months ago, the Exchange stole a large amount of ryll, rylca and ryll kor from Nikro the Hutt. They disappeared on Nar Shaddaa; we managed to track it all to the Taris Lower City before it all dispersed."

Ringhopper cursed. "That shipment was stolen from Nikro? If I'd known that I would have passed it up."

Fable looked at him, surprised. "You're admitting that you smuggled it all for them?"

He shrugged. "The Bounty Hunter's Order is famous for never getting information wrong. What's the point in bothering? So, I'm a dead man walking, right?"

Under her helmet, Fable smirked. "I wouldn't say that. Nikro is full of surprises."

* * *

Krin groaned. That didn't reassure him in the slightest. Part of him was positive she said that to mess with him. Dejectedly, Krin ate his meal of broth, bread and water. Meager, but enough to make complaining seem pointless.

The Mandalorian turned her attention to dismantling and cleaning her blaster rifle. Krin couldn't stop glancing at her, the way she ignored him bugged the hell out of him.

She didn't seem to outright reject conversation, so maybe if he kept talking…

"What kind of rifle is that?"

He had barely finished his sentence when she answered. "It's a SoroSuub GLX Firelance."

Okay, she's willing to talk. Krin just had to talk first. "Hell of a stun setting."

She didn't look up. "Best on the market when it comes to that department in my opinion."

"You must have been using it for a while 'cause you're one hell of a shot with it." Krin was not flattering her. He had run all of five steps, and she had taken him down in one shot.

She glanced at him for a moment. "Being the only white thing made you an easy target. I suggest colors that are either worn by everyone else or the color of your environment if Nikro is generous with you."

Krin snorted as he placed the empty tray near the slot. "Says the women in the lovely, yet distinctive blue and red armor."

She started to reassemble her rifle, her voice remained calm, but she moved in jerky motions now. Krin had touched a sore spot, whoops. "One, this armor allows me to take a lot more hits than almost anyone. Two, Mandalorian armor is supposed to be distinctive. We're proud of who we are, we want to announce it to the galaxy." With a final click, and her blaster reassembled, she turned to him once again, crossing her arms. "Besides, each set tells other Mando's important information about who's wearing it. Color, symbols, how well-kept it is; armor tells us something you could never understand unless we sit you down and explain it."

"Do the differences help you identify each other too?" Well, it looks like an actual conversation has started. He didn't even need to think about that one.

"On a personal basis?" She waited for him to nod confirmation before continuing. "To a point. Most armor is entirely unique, but all an imposter has to do is mimic the paint job to fool most non-Mandos who don't know the real deal. Not that any of us worth impersonating is worth getting on the bad side of."

The only Mandalorian that Krin could think of that was worth impersonating was Boba Fett. "No kidding."

Probably not willing to talk anymore, she took the tray, and made her way to the door.

"What's your name?" Krin had no idea why he asked that, maybe it was because part of him was annoyed at mentally referring to her as 'the Mandalorian.'

She turned to him, seeming to consider the question. He thought she wasn't going to answer by the time she spoke.

"My name's Fable, of the Mandalorian clan Ramsair. You'll stick to my clan name if you know what's good for you."

She was out the door without another word.


	2. Nikro the Hut

**This is the seconds chapter. I guarantee that this will be as short as my chapters get.**

**I do not own the Star Wars universe, I'm just playing with it. The things that I have created myself in this chapter are Fable Ramsair, and Clan Ramsair for that matter, Krin Ringhopper, Nikro the Hutt, Reaca, and The Bounty Hunter's Order.**

By the time they had landed, Krin had resigned himself to his fate. He had crossed a Hutt after all, even if he didn't know it at the time. And Ramsair's comments weren't helping.

"Nikro is full of surprises," she'd say, "He likes to do the unexpected."

Was she trying to get his imagination to go wild and think of the most unpleasant deaths his mind cold cook up? It seemed like she was.

So as Ramsair led him from the hanger, Krin found himself lamely saying, "It was nice meeting you."

She simply shrugged and said, "Nothing in the universe is absolute."

What the hell was that supposed to mean! She knew something, Krin was positive about that much. But what did she know?

Krin hadn't seen what the place looked like from the outside, he was stuck in the cargo hold for the landing. But the inside was surprisingly simple. A close look at the carpet of the halls told him that simple did not mean cheap though. He didn't know much on the subject of carpeting, but he knew when something was expensive.

He sarcastically sent a mental thank you to his family for that. What a skill to teach a kid.

"If you think the carpet is interesting, look at the lights. I was they're pure crystal."

Krin knew he was looking at the younger woman like she was insane. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Ramsair shrugged, "You find the carpet so interesting because it looks expensive. Leftover instinct from being raised by thieves, I presume?"

Krin glared at her, "How did you know that?" He then found himself sarcastically guessing, "Crooks are bound to raise crooks?"

Ramsair shook her head, "I do thorough background checks for anyone I'm after, helps me get into their heads. People pick up habits of those that raise them, especially if they're taught. Your family's business was high end robbery…"

"And you figured that those instincts were somehow passed on to me." Krin finished for her. Ramsair nodded in response. "Alright, you got me, I was taught what was valuable the moment I started to notice shiny things, happy?"

"No. Theft is not something a child should be taught. Not ever." Krin was surprised at the tone in her voice.

"Why so bitter? Something from experience?"

"No, but I've seen the after effects. Although some might say I was exposed to the world of bounty hunting too early, it's more of a cultural thing." She was being surprisingly open, if he could keep her talking, he could figure out what the Hutt wanted…

"Cultural? What do you mean cultural?"

Ramsair spoke in a tone surprisingly casual for someone escorting a handcuffed smuggler to his doom. "I'm a Mandalorian. Culturally we're adults at thirteen."

Krin actually stopped from the shock. "Thirteen!"

Ramsair patiently pushed him forward. "Thirteen or its physical equivalent. The tradition goes as far back as the original Mandalorians, the Taung from 7,000 years ago. But enough about that," they stopped at the end of the hall, in front of two large and ornate double doors, "your meeting with Nikro awaits."

Krin knew that he visibly gulped, he didn't care. Nikro the Hutt was a well known name in this part of the galaxy. But other than him being the leader of the local smuggling operation, and having a knack for scouting out promising unknowns when it came to smugglers, mercenaries and bounty hunters, not much was known about him.

In the next moment, Krin found out one thing. The guy soundproofed the walls of his home. How else could he not hear a jizz band that loud?

It looked like the party was in full swing, but it was different than other Hutt parties Krin had been to. For one thing, most of the dancers looked like professionals that had been hired, or invited Krin wasn't sure, by Nikro. As for the non-professionals, they looked like guests that had joined in.

Modestly uniformed hired help made rounds gathering empty plates and glasses, but they seemed to know which ones to skip. Food was served in a buffet and the bar was across the large room.

In the far corner was the brown form of Nikro the Hutt. He was smaller than most Hutts, and Krin could swear that his bulk had more muscle than fat. His eyes were closed and he was happily swaying to the music. And his tail was actually thumping on the ground in time with the beat.

From his first impression, Krin wouldn't be surprised if he was humming along.

Ramsair pushed him along by his shoulder, "Let's get this over with, shall we?"

As they walked towards Nikro, the partygoers stopped whatever they were doing to stare. The band had stopped playing by the time they were halfway across the hall, and Nikro's intense amber gaze was directed at Krin for the rest of that agonizing walk. He was in a cold sweat by the time he took two steps under Nikro's gaze.

When Ramsair had stopped Krin only three feet before the Hutt, Nikro finally spoke, into a microphone, translating Huttese to Basic. "So you're Krin Ringhopper. Forgive me I was expecting someone taller."

A few chuckles echoed around the room and Krin was sorely tempted to say he was expecting someone fatter. He didn't want to get into anymore trouble, so he bit that comment back.

"You know why you're here I assume? Fable told you?"

Krin nodded, "I smuggled a large load of spice for the Exchange, spice that was stolen from you."

Nikro solemnly nodded. "That's right. Not only that but you evaded my detection until the job was done, and managed to elude Fable, my current go to girl for tracking people down, for nearly a standard month!"

Ramsair's shift in weight and tilted head was not lost on Krin. What Nikro had just said was news to her.

Nikro continued, "And this is precisely why-" this was it, the death sentence, "I want to hire you!"

* * *

There were some things that would never get old. Being better than her mentors at something, making a partially hard shot and the look on smugglers faces when Nikro recruits them in his own unique style.

As was the routine, Fable undid the handcuffs around Ringhopper's wrists. His hands fell limply by his sides. He'd ask it in three, two, one.

"You want to hire me? So you send a bounty hunter after me?"

Nikro laughed heartily, "It makes me seem ruthless. As a Hutt and a businessman, I have to at least appear to be a murderous cretin. Reputation is everything you know."

Ringhopper's next sentence was spoken in a flat and bewildered voice. "You don't say…" He gulped lightly, getting his wits back about him. "Will this be by commission or will we have a contract?"

Fable stopped listening at that point; the only time she paid attention to those types of discussions is when they pertained to her. For some reason, she felt it was rude to listen to them when it was someone else being hired.

She silently excused herself to a back corner. From there she sent a silent message to the Bounty Hunter's Order that her assignment was complete. If she was lucky she would be called back right away.

She liked Nikro, she really did. But she really didn't feel like one of his parties at the moment. Well not this one at least.

Parties celebrating new employees got a bit too loud and wild for her taste.

* * *

The welcoming party was just starting up when Fable got the call to return to the guild. Nikro let her go easily, as usual. He knew that the longer she stayed, the more money she lost. Being a Hutt, Nikro appreciated that.

She was approaching the planet that the Bounty Hunter's Order's headquarters was located on. It was called Recron a remote farming world, with only one city to note. That city was called Hunt, mainly because it was built around the Order's headquarters. Apparently a city crawling with bounty hunters was a safe city, especially when there was a reward for stopping criminals in the act.

From space, Recron was very green, with several large bodies of indigo water. Fable knew that the planet had no oceans, only very large freshwater lakes. Recron's land was about three quarter's savannah and one quarter jungle, if what some of the veteran guild members said was true.

The Order's headquarters was a series of large buildings at the very heart of Hunt. Known to members and locals as 'The Compound,' it was a surprising social spot. Guild members and locals alike would gather in the cantinas and common areas within.

Fable contacted the control tower. "Compound, this is _Order Vessel 5_ returning from a mission, I need to know if the bay is ready to receive me."

"Copy that _5_, the bay is all clear for your arrival. Welcome back kid."

Fable smiled. That was one of the great things about the Hunter's Order, there were only about two hundred members, almost all members could recognize each other. She was the newest member, being an active bounty hunter for about a year-and-a-half, so she was the most recognizable to the other members. The rookie without her own ship.

Fable touched down in the docking bay with the number that matched the ship. Before disembarking, she gave the entire ship a once over. It was the Order's policy to make sure any ship was as clean as possible before leaving the ship at the dock.

Fable nodded to the Sullustan mechanic as she made her way down the ramp, "She's yours again Runt."

Fable went straight to one of the larger cantinas of the Compound, as per her instructions. It was about a ten minute walk from the docks. She passed by several of the other guild hunter, who greeted her with nods and the occasional 'kid.' They had finally stopped calling her 'rookie' last month.

Fable had met the Order's leaders in that particular cantina when asking for membership. She was shocked by the seer verity of beings. Every color from purple to green, beings from knee height to towering over her, all matter of shapes and girths. And that wasn't even touching on the amount of languages being spoken over the upbeat music.

Some of her fellow guild members, much to Fable's silent joy, nodded her way.

A red Twi'lek near the center waved at her, "Ramsair, right on time! Over here!"

Fable sat at the table. "What's up Reaca?"

Reaca was a non-hunting worker for the Order. A member had freed her from slavery, and she had begged for a way to be useful to him and the guild. She was now one of the more popular information brokers and contacts, and it wasn't because of her looks.

Reaca smiled at Fable, "Mystery client contacted us. Was real specific about what type hunter she wanted. You match each one…"

Fable cocked her head, "Why me? Aren't there others-?"

Reaca looked slightly sheepish, "One of the criteria was being not well known."

Figures, but she was still new to the game, and beggars can't be choosers. "What's the job?"

Reaca smiled and waved her finger in the air, "Ah ah, you need to take the job before knowing what it is."

"Well, tell the client that I accept the job."

The Twi'lek beamed, "She'll be here in two days. I'll contact you when she gets here."


	3. A Hunt Begins

Wow, I actually forgot about this story in the craziness of the summer. Sorry about the wait.

**I do not own the Star Wars universe, I'm just playing with it. The things that I have created myself in this chapter are Fable Ramsair, and Clan Ramsair and The Bounty Hunter's Order. Do not use them without my permission.**

Fable met the client in a private conference room two days after accepting the job. The client was a small woman, but that was all she was able to see. The client was dressed in a dark brown cloak, and kept the hood up over her face, and the lower part of her face was obscured by a white scarf. Her eyes were still visible, but they were an artificial shade of lilac.

Fable's guard was up in an instant. This woman was going out of her way not to be recognized. Either she was really recognizable, or wanted to avoid becoming so. Which was not an easy task from what Fable could tell, this woman, even in disguise, she had a demeanor that commanded attention once she was noticed. It was a rare trait that, if Fable was observant enough, would allow her to recognize the woman when she wasn't in disguise.

Fable had a feeling this job was going to be bigger than she expected, but less known than any other job she will ever take.

"Fable Ramsair I presume?" The client spoke in a crisp, authoritative and aristocratic voice, even though she was obviously using means to make her voice at least an octave lower. Fable was convinced that this woman was known somewhere; there is no other reason why she would go to such lengths to hide herself. She was being smart about it by using a scarf and hood as her main disguise though; even the best disguises, make up and artificial faces could be made useless by her guild's facial recognition software, which was getting somewhat famous as of late.

Fable nodded and kept her tone even and professional. "You presume right."

The woman approached two steps, her tone curt and businesslike. "I was told that you are good at finding people who don't want to be found. You don't need to confirm that, I've read what the Hunter's Order has about you on file, you have the skill and track record we need, and you are an unknown, which will allow you to do this quietly, which is the most important part of this job. Before I tell you the job, I need you to confirm that you are willing to accept it."

Fable shrugged casually, although the mention of her supposed 'track record' amused her slightly, twelve assignments wasn't much of one. "So long as it's not an assassination, I accept."

Fable knew that was an odd thing to say for a bounty hunter, especially a Mandalorian bounty hunter to those who liked to stereotype, but Fable was a bounty hunter, she'd rather leave the hired hits and assassinations to actual assassins, the glorified murders that they were.

The woman visibly relaxed when Fable made it clear that she didn't do assassinations, Fable noted. "I assure you it's not." She closed the gap between them and handed her a datapad, "But it is a job for the Republic military. One standard week ago data, an X-wing and an astromech droid numbered R8-K6 was stolen by a deserter named Ray Seatak. That droid has some important information in it. I want you to recover it."

It may seem rude, but one of the most important rules of the business was to agree on price before setting out, and being blunt about it prevented misunderstandings, "How much will I get for requiring this for you?"

"You will be paid 2,000 credits now and 10,000 on its return to me."

Fable skimmed the files on the 'pad. That was a lot of credits to pay a hunter that hadn't been active for even two years; the most she had made at once was 8,000. The Republic was desperate enough to hire a bounty hunter to get it back, and pay them 12,000 credits to do so. Fable couldn't help but wonder what the data was. "And Seatak? What do you want me to do with him?"

"Your priority is R8-K6. But if you can apprehend Seatak…" the client paused for a moment, "…you will be given a larger sum of credits."

Fable looked at the woman, who she had dubbed 'Republic' in her head. "What condition do you want him in if I do?"

Republic hesitated for a moment, "Recognizable would be preferable."

Fable suppressed a laugh, he'd be recognizable alright. She held her hand out to Republic, "I prefer to shake on a deal."

Republic hesitated before taking Fable's hand in her own gloved one. "I expect you to be subtle about this. Seatak has no clue about the data, and I want to keep it that way."

Fable nodded before releasing Republic's hand, "I assure you, this will be as quiet as I can make it. But how do you know he doesn't know about the data, and if he didn't know about the data, why did he take the droid in the first place?"

"If he had known, he wouldn't have bothered to take the data he knowingly stole. As for him taking the droid, I told you he stole an X-wing as well; he obviously needed a navigator droid and R8 units can be sold at over 1500 credits, if he's willing to that is. He took one of the best units."

Fable cocked her head slightly, "And you don't care about the data that Seatak stole from your files?"

Republic chuckled, sounding almost smug. "It's all false information. We were going to leak it out **before** he stole it. He'd do us a favor by selling it; make it all seem more legitimate."

Fable smirked under her helmet; a plan just came into mind. "Can you give me a copy of what he stole?"

Republic's eyebrows furrowed in obvious, and predicable, confusion. "Why, so you and your associates have the advantage of knowing the truth?"

Fable shook her head, "A small bonus, but not the reason I'm asking you. He's probably going to sell the information, right?"

Republic eyed her. "That's what we assume…"

Fable noted that this woman probably didn't work in intelligence. She continued to try to clue Republic in to what was obvious to Fable. "And how do you suppose we find the source of leaks, or informants?"

"You…" Republic trailed off as her eyes widened in realization. "You follow the information back to its source…"

Fable nodded. "Exactly, I'm not going to get into how information tracking is done considering it's a trade secret and kind of complicated, but I can tell you it's a lot harder and more time consuming when you don't know what the information **is**. It's still possible, but it involves a lot of investigating, and more damage will be done by the time the source is found. Trust me, if I know the content of what Antilles stole, and he starts to sell that information, I can find him, and by extension the droid, a lot quicker."

Republic nodded thoughtfully, but her reluctance was obvious. "That makes sense. But I must ask my superiors first."

Fable gestured to a door in the corner of the room. "They told you about the sound proof room, right?" They had one attached to every conference room. They were quite useful, middle men could comm. a client, partners can evaluate a job and delicate information can be exchanged without anyone outside it hearing a sound. There were also no listening or recording devices in them; Fable had checked each room several times once on a slow day.

Republic nodded as she turned and walked towards it. "Yes, makes you wonder how many secrets there are here."

Fable ignored the obvious jab at either the Hunter's Order or herself as she read the datapad. The woman's face may have been obscured, but she still conveyed a lot. Her stance, the way she was speaking and her movements were telling Fable that she did not want to be here. Seeking out a bounty hunter must seem like an act of the worst kind of desperation to Republic, meaning that the data was much more important than she was letting on. Not that Fable cared, no matter how curious she was, she would not look at that data. To do so would be a breach of contract, and that was both unprofessional and dishonorable.

It also seemed like Republic didn't like bounty hunters. She was on guard, tense and suspicious. It was clear that she didn't trust anyone within this compound. And her assumption that Fable would kill Ray Seatak, or that she would want the false information to get ahead made her personal feelings obvious. Republic thought that all people in Fable's trade were greedy scum who found killing fun.

Sure, a good amount of bounty hunters were like that, but not all of them.

Fable's musings were interrupted by Republic's return. She held out her hand to Fable. "If you could return the datapad for a moment, I can upload what he stole to it."

* * *

Fable sat in the cockpit of _Order Ship 7_ and scrolled through the false data. Most of them were reports stating projects were behind schedule, with a few under staff complaints from small bases thrown in. Fable smiled when she stumbled on a memo reporting that the Corellian Flu was making its rounds throughout the bases.

It seems the New Republic wasn't above dirty tricks after all. Fable knew of several groups, especially the Empire, who would attack the Republic in a heartbeat if they heard this information. This meant that the Republic had set traps, and a lot of them.

Clever, very clever of them.

Fable opened a comm. channel and waited for a response. She had it in seconds.

"Fleet here, what do you need?" Fable smiled at the chipper, albeit somewhat distracted, voice. Fleet, as he called himself, a small time information broker and Fable's main informant. The computer whiz could find any bit of data or information so long as it was stored somewhere with an extranet connection. Not only that, but he could run facial recognition software on an entire planet's security cams, receiving an alert when a facial match was caught on hologram. The best part was that helping Fable was the guy's **hobby**. He was the heir to some large corporation that's name Fable didn't bother to remember. Apparently it only needed the owner a few times a year to look good at parties, meaning he was very rich, but had far too much time on his hands. Three years ago Fable had, on a whim and against her better judgment, risked her neck to help him. In return, she had learned of his little hobby of hacking and finding out things he shouldn't and got his services for free. A fair trade, especially if the stunt she pulled then bit her in the ass.

"Hey Fleet, its Fable, I need you to do something for me."

"Anything you need, free of charge as always."

Did he really have to say that every time? She used him too often to forget that. "I'm sending you a profile image, run it through transports departing Coruscant for the last two weeks." Normally, she'd have him try and match the false information to gossip too, but the less that got around, the better. The Republic was delaying leaking the information for a small time, meaning Seatak would be the only possible source. But she needed to at least know what system he was in first, and if she was lucky, Fleet would name the planet too.

* * *

It would take a little over a week to get to where Fleet said Seatak disembarked the transport. Like most fugitives, he ran to some backwater planet Fable wasn't going to remember the name of. Fable really hoped he was planning to stay there, because it would be really annoying if Fleet told her he had boarded another transport when she was halfway there.

She hated it when she had to travel through large non-hyperspace zones, but it was impossible to make a hyperspace route to the planet she was going to, so she needed to fly manually. Thankfully, there were places where pilots could park their ship to rest and refuel all along the route.

She had finally taken advantage of one when she realized she had been awake for forty-eight hours and needed rest. She was pleasantly surprised at how cheap they were. Bounty hunting was an expensive trade to be part of, and newcomers often found themselves going broke. Fable had to budget her funds carefully, especially since she was saving credits for her own ship.

Fable didn't bother putting on her helmet as she sat in the pilot's seat. She gave her reflection a glance out of habit, more to check if anything was behind her than to look at her own appearance. She never saw herself as anything above average. Her hair was a common brown color, normally held back, and fell in a simple cut if she let it down. Her eyes weren't spectacular either, just a simple, normal shade of green. The only thing worth noticing around her face were her tattoos. Curving blue lines formed an intricate pattern on her forehead and temples. She hid those tattoos from most of the world, there might be unpleasant misunderstandings otherwise.

Seeing that nobody was trying to sneak up behind her, Fable started up the ship and prepared for another day of flying through nothing.

* * *

She was surprised at how polite the members of the Bounty Hunters Order were to her. And this Fable Ramsair was very personable for a Mandalorian. That was what was most surprising, a Mandalorian that was actually polite, one might even say friendly, to someone outside her culture. From what she understood, Mandalorians tended act hostile towards, shut out, or simply ignore non-Mandalorians.

Then again, she was hiring Ramsair, so the bounty hunter had every reason to be friendly. It might get her paid more. That's all bounty hunters cared about anyway, their bank accounts.

Hiring one of them for the Republic made her feel dirty. Like she was she was slogging through a mud pit full of insects, diseases and rotting plants, causing her to be caked in the filth. It was a degrading experience that she was reluctant to go through since the last time she had the misfortune of running into a bounty hunter, but she wanted the others to avoid it.

So she was stuck dealing with the bounty hunters herself. Thankfully none of them had recognized her, but Ramsair radiated suspicion at one point. That's what bothered her the most; there was something about her that she couldn't identify.

That Mandalorian seemed to take in the world around her in the most peculiar manner. She analyzed everything she saw and heard, and responded with calculated judgments. It was all too reminiscent of another, more famous, Mandalorian bounty hunter. But that could be a cultural thing for all she knew about them.

But what made her the most uncomfortable when speaking to Ramsair was a familiar feeling that only came when she was around certain people. She had dismissed the idea at first, Mandalorians were said to reject that type of person.

Still, the suspicion wouldn't go away.


End file.
